Free Slow Burn by Julie Garwood Page B

a good ten seconds, mostly focusing on her mouth, and said, “Try me.”
    Oh, Lord. He definitely was not squirming, and she was bombarded with all sorts of nutty thoughts. She suddenly realized what she was doing and decided to get him out of the apartment as soon as possible.
    “I’m waiting.”
    She could hear the laughter in his voice. “Maybe later,” she said.
    Her mouth went dry. She took a gulp of water. She couldn’t understand why she was feeling so nervous, but she was. She didn’t want him to know it, though. To give her hands something to do she took her time straightening up the newspapers. What in heaven’s name was the matter with her? She was feeling so unsure of herself—and embarrassed. That didn’t make any sense. She’d known Dylan for a long time, and he’d never had quite this effect on her before. She was actually trying to block fantasies about him. She’d never been one to waste her time on fantasies—she lived in the real world, not make-believe. But now one image after another—all involving Dylan’s amazing body—was bombarding her.
    As she fidgeted with the papers, her robe fell off her shoulders.
    “Where did you get all these bruises?” Dylan asked. His hand touched the base of her neck and moved down her arm.
    She didn’t push his hand away, but she craned her neck to see. “I didn’t know that one was there. It must have happened when I fell.”
    “What about the one on your forehead? And the one on your arm?”
    “Same fall.”
    His fingers slid across her back causing goose bumps. She hoped he didn’t notice what his touch was doing to her.
    “Are you as accident-prone as Jordan is?” He laughed as he thought about that possibility, and then said, “The two of you living together . . . she’s always tripping . . .”
    “Only when she forgets to wear her glasses,” she defended.
    “So why were you crying?”
    They had come full circle, and he was once again back to his initial question.
    “You have already asked me that, and I’ve answered.”
    She took the remote from him and pushed a button. A commercial popped on. Turning the volume up, she pretended to be fascinated by a loud salesman dressed in cowboy attire who was shouting into the camera that he must be out of his mind. He was waving a lasso around as his scantily clad female sidekick, showing her patriotic flair with her sequined red, white, and blue ensemble, held up signs with slashed prices on each one. Apparently the salesman was only going to be out of his mind for a one-week extravaganza.
    Dylan reached over, pushed the mute button, and said, “It isn’t healthy to keep everything all bottled up inside.”
    Heaven help her, he sounded sympathetic. And that was her undoing. She could feel the tears coming again and was suddenly desperate to get him out of the apartment before she started blubbering.
    “You should go home now.” Her voice quivered. Why couldn’t she control her emotions tonight? What in God’s name was wrong with her? It wasn’t like her to be so undisciplined.
    “Maybe I should stay,” he said.
    The remote became a Ping-Pong ball, going back and forth between them. He had possession now and was scanning the channels. He turned his head ever so slightly toward her. He had beautiful eyes. And they were looking at her with genuine concern.
    “I don’t need you to sit with me.”
    “Okay,” he agreed. “Then I guess I’ll leave.”
    “Good, because . . .” She couldn’t go on. He wouldn’t have understood a word said after that, anyway. She was sobbing. It was mortifying but impossible for her to stop.

Chapter Eleven
    Kate jumped up from the sofa thinking she would try to regain a tiny shred of dignity and walk out of the room with her head held high, but Dylan had other intentions. He pulled her down on his lap.
    For the next ten minutes he didn’t say a word to her. He simply wrapped his arms around her, occasionally patted her awkwardly, and let her soak his